


Disco 2000

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: Octavia Street musings [4]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Eventual Smut, Fluff, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-22 22:15:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 17,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15591915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Spring 2000. Nick and Ilsa meet up again.





	1. “Let’s all meet up in the year 2000”

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was burning a hole in my brain and not letting me write anything else. I was going to wait until after Lethal White, but hey. I’ll try to get it done before September 18th!
> 
> I’ve tried to stick to the few clues JKR has given us.

“You know blue mascara was over years ago, right?” Ilsa Angove said teasingly. Anything to take her mind off her nerves, to stop herself thinking too clearly about the evening ahead of her and why her heart was fluttering.

“It’s my signature look, I can’t abandon it now!” her flatmate Claire said lightly. “You’re just jealous because you’re not as blonde as me so you can’t carry it off.”

It was a teasing banter they had regularly as they prepared for nights out. The two young women, almost 26 years old, had met at law school and had been sharing a flat for two years now, enjoying the London scene, working hard, studying hard, playing hard. All that would change soon, though, for Ilsa had recently accepted the proposal of her boyfriend Pete. _Fiancé_ , she told herself. _He’s my fiancé now._ The diamond sparkled on her third finger, catching the light, twinkling in the corner of her eye as she leaned over Claire’s shoulder to apply her own mascara in the mirror. She had her own mirror in her bedroom, but they had always got ready together.

“What time is Pete meeting us?” Claire asked, taking a sip of her getting-ready wine. They always had a little glass while they got dressed up, it was part of the tradition.

“Er, he’s not,” Ilsa said, flushing slightly, turning away so that Claire wouldn’t spot it and taking a quick sip of wine. “He’s busy,” she added vaguely.

“Oh, okay,” Claire replied, fortunately missing her friend’s discomfort. “Shame he can’t be there to meet your old friend. What’s his name again? Something weird, wasn’t it?”

“Cormoran,” Ilsa said, and a fond smile formed on her face as she said her old friend’s name, the real reason for tonight’s nerves temporarily forgotten. “Cormoran Strike. I’ve known him since we were six, he’s an old friend from Cornwall.”

“That is a weird name. This is the Army guy, right?” Claire said. “Ooh, I do like a man in uniform.”

Ilsa laughed. “I don’t think he’ll be wearing it tonight,” she said. “He’s just got back from... somewhere. He did tell me. Or maybe he didn’t, he’s not always allowed to. But anyway, he says he’s got a few weeks off before his next assignment so he’s renting a flat in town and catching up with everyone.”

At the mention of “everyone”, her heart lurched again. _He might not even be there,_ she told herself.

“Is he single?” Claire asked, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. “And more importantly, is he sexy?” She winked.

Ilsa laughed. “Single, I don’t know,” she said. “He has this on-again, off-again girlfriend, no idea if they’re currently together. I hope not, she’s a bit odd, would probably spoil the evening. And sexy? I’ve never thought so, but he never seems to have any trouble pulling.”

Claire grinned wickedly. “I’d better get in there quick, then,” she said, and Ilsa giggled. “What are you like?” she said.

They finished getting ready, drained their glasses of wine and headed off for the pub in Soho that Strike had texted Ilsa about. Ilsa could feel her nerves rising as they approached the pub and went in. _Stop it_ , she told herself. _You’re a happily engaged woman. You’re supposed to be thinking about dresses and flowers, not_ —

“Ilsa!” called a familiar baritone, and she found herself swept into a bear hug, almost literally. Her old friend was huge, six foot three of Army-toned muscle. She heard Claire audibly gasp behind her.

“Corm,” she said, squeezing him fiercely. “Oh, it’s been too long. How are you?”

“Good, thanks,” he said, breaking apart from her and grinning. His curly hair, which had been unruly and wild in his teens, was Army-regulation close-cropped, his face clean-shaven, his dark eyes piercing as ever. Even Ilsa, who only ever saw him as the boy next door, would have to admit he looked good.

Ilsa introduced him and Claire, reflecting as she did so that her flatmate was probably just his type, tall and blonde. She was so focused on watching, amused, as Claire went into full flirt mode, that she failed to notice the figure at her elbow until he spoke softly.

“Hi, Ilsa.”

Her heart lurched at the sound of his voice. She turned, pinning a smile on her face.

“Nick,” she said, and accepted a peck on the cheek from him. Her eyes scanned him quickly. His sandy hair had already started to recede a little, but his hazel eyes were as kind and twinkling as she remembered. He was, if anything, even more handsome, still tall and lithe and fit. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she clutched her handbag to hide the tremor in her hands. _Get a grip_ , she told herself.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Good, thanks,” she managed. “And you?”

He smiled, the smile that had always turned her heart over. “Yeah, good too,” he said. “What would you like to drink?”

They moved to the bar, making small talk about the weather, about Strike’s return. Ilsa felt very self conscious about her engagement ring suddenly. The little diamond felt huge, ostentatious, too flashy. She found herself tucking her hand down at her side, out of view.

There was quite a gathering in the pub, of various friends Strike had made over the years who still lived in London. Ilsa recognised a couple, but no one she knew well, so she was glad she had brought Claire. Not that I’m going to see much of her, she thought, amused, glancing over to where her flatmate was still chatting up a frankly very interested-looking Strike.

“Looks like Oggy’s hit it off with your flatmate already,” Nick said, amused, and she laughed.

“I had a feeling she’d be his type,” she said.

“But does she realise he’s only just back on leave?” Nick said, grinning. “Probably been a while since he’s had any, ah, female company.”

Ilsa flushed a little, her hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Even a reference to sex was, with this man, enough to bring her blushes to the fore.

Too late, she realised what she’d done. His eye caught the diamond on her third finger. Her heart lurched. She felt... guilty? _Ridiculous_ , she told herself. _You haven’t seen him in ages. He might be married for all you know_. Though she was pretty sure Strike would have told her if that was the case. She’d tried not to ask after Nick too often over the years, but occasionally the temptation had been too great.

He gave no outward reaction, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanour, in the atmosphere between them.

“You’re engaged?” he asked lightly. “Congratulations. Who’s the lucky guy?”

“He’s called Pete,” Ilsa managed. “It only happened recently, we haven’t set a date or anything.” _Stop making excuses._

“Well, congratulations. That’s great news,” he said, warmly, and kissed her cheek again.

Strike and Claire joined them, and Strike introduced Nick and Claire. Ilsa saw Claire’s eyes widen just slightly, and closed her eyes briefly, praying that she wouldn’t say anything. But for once her bubbly, forward flatmate kept her mouth shut, shaking hands formally and making polite conversation.

It wasn’t long, however, before she had managed to manoeuvre Ilsa into one of the booths at the back of the pub. They had been introduced to several more of Strike’s friends, and Ilsa had drunk her wine a little too fast and was feeling slightly tipsy now. Claire fetched more drinks and sat opposite her friend.

She leaned forward. “Right, mrs,” she said. “What gives? Is that Nick? THE Nick, the One That Got Away? The doctor?”

“Shh,” Ilsa whispered, blushing. “Yes, that’s him.”

Claire looked over to where Nick and Strike stood at the bar.

“Good-looking guy,” she said. “Just your type. Tall, slim, fair, clever...” Her gaze swung back to Ilsa, accusing. “Oh, my God, he looks like Pete!” she cried.

Scarlet, Ilsa buried her face in her hands. “I know,” she said.

Claire roared with laughter, attracting looks from nearby tables.

“Claire, please,” Ilsa begged. “Keep your voice down. It’s not funny. I thought I was over him, I haven’t seen him for years. I couldn’t make the last get-together when Cormoran was on leave, and he couldn’t make the one before.”

Giggles drying up, Claire looked at her shrewdly. “What are you saying, Ilsa?” she asked. “That you’re not over him?”

Ilsa shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “I thought I was. But...” How to describe how her heart had lurched at the sound of his voice, how her stomach had lurched when he kissed her cheek, how he just smelled... right? Warm and masculine and— She shivered. She could pretend all she liked, but her body remembered.

Claire paused, looking her her appraisingly. “Right,” she said. “This isn’t a conversation for tonight, but I’m not done with you.”

She looked across to the bar again. “I can’t believe you don’t think Cormoran is sexy,” she said. “My God, I could eat him for breakfast. And lunch and tea, look at the size of him.”

Ilsa giggled. “That does seem to be the opinion of quite a few women,” she said. “I dunno, I’ve just only ever known him as Mum’s friend’s nephew. We used to play together when he was living with his aunt and uncle.”

“Well, let’s just say I hope I see plenty more of him,” Claire said, and Ilsa laughed.

Over at the bar, Strike clapped Nick on the shoulder.

“Good to see you, mate,” he said. “How’s it going?”

“Good, yeah,” Nick said. “On my final hospital rotation, I hope. Think I’m going to focus on gastroenterology. Just about coping with the hours. How about you? Where are they posting you next?”

“They’re not,” Strike said. “I’ve done five years, time for a change. I’ve applied to join the SIB, military police. I’m heading down to Portsmouth to start my training once I get the call, should be in a few weeks. In the meantime I just need to keep fit and find some, ah, amusement,” and he cast a glance across to Ilsa and Claire.

Nick laughed. “Charlotte not on the scene any more, then?” he asked.

“Nah,” Strike said lightly, but Nick didn’t miss the brief flash of pain that passed across his old friend’s face. “Last I heard, she’d gone into rehab, but that was ages ago and she hasn’t been in touch. No, I’m free to look around.”

Nick laughed. “Well, I think you’re in there, mate,” he said, glancing across at Claire and Ilsa again. _God, she’s still beautiful_. “Got her number yet?”

“Give me time,” Strike said, grinning. “Rude just to ask for it straight out.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “You’ll have it by the end of the evening, I’m sure,” he said. He took a sip of his pint. “I didn’t know Ilsa was engaged,” he said, studiously casual.

Strike looked at him sharply, not fooled for a moment. “Nor did I,” he said. “Huh. I always assumed you guys would...” He tailed off.

“Yeah, me too,” Nick said. “Guess I missed that boat. Plenty more fish in the sea, eh? I’m actually dating a fellow doctor.” And he proceeded to tell Strike about Sian, firmly ignoring the ache in his heart that didn’t belong there and needed sternly evicting.

 

 


	2. Ilsa and Claire and coffee

Ilsa groaned when the alarm went off. She gave the slumbering form next to her a shove. “Your turn in the shower first,” she mumbled, sleepily.

Pete grunted and rolled over. He wrapped an arm around her, warm and relaxed. “Five more minutes,” he murmured into her hair.

Ilsa giggled and pushed him away. “You know once Claire gets in there she’ll be ages,” she said. “So you go, or I will.”

Grumbling good-naturedly, Pete dragged himself out of bed and put on Ilsa’s dressing gown. He disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. Ilsa pulled her pyjamas on, found her glasses and went to start the coffee.

To her surprise, Claire was sat in the kitchen, already drinking a cup. The cafetière was full. “Help yourself,” Claire said.

“Not like you to be up this early,” Ilsa said, yawning.

Claire grinned. “Let’s just say I had a restless night,” she said. “A certain Army hunk keeps invading my dreams. Going to be needing a lot of coffee today.”

Ilsa laughed. “I will never get the effect he has on women,” she said, fondly. “Has he texted yet?”

“Not yet,” Claire said. “But he will. We had a bit of a chemistry thing going on the other night.”

“I noticed,” Ilsa said drily.

Claire lowered her voice. “And so did you and Nick,” she said. “I saw the way he was looking at you after he’d had a few beers.”

“Shh,” Ilsa said, glancing over her shoulder down the hall.

“He’s in the shower, he won’t hear,” Claire said, dismissively. “Seriously, Ilsa. It’s obvious this unrequited love thing goes two ways.” She paused, thinking. “I guess that means it’s not unrequited. Huh.”

She suddenly looked sharply at her friend. “You said Pete was busy. Did you even invite him?”

Ilsa flushed. “He’d said something about seeing the guys,” she said. “So I, er, didn’t mention it.” Claire raised an eyebrow at her.

“Anyway, it’s not unrequited love!” Ilsa hurried on. “He’s an ex, that’s all. I found him attractive then, I do now. No big deal. But I’m marrying Pete. I love him. There’ll be other guys I’m attracted to, but when you get married you say goodbye to all that.”

Claire looked at her shrewdly. “Okay,” she said. “Is the sex as good?”

Caught off guard, Ilsa flushed bright red. “What?”

“You heard,” Claire said, grinning. “Is the sex as good? With Pete as it was with Nick?”

“What... well... what’s that got to do with anything?”

“No, then.” Claire was still grinning.

“It’s... we were eighteen, we were horny, he was...” Ilsa flushed even redder. “He was my first,” she whispered. “Of course it would be special.”

“You know, that’s pretty much the opposite of how it usually works,” Claire said, laughing at her friend’s discomfort. “Sex is definitely something that gets better with practice.”

“Well,” Ilsa said, shaking her shoulders out and trying to get her colour under control. “You know, we... practised.”

Claire roared with laughter again. “I bet you did,” she said wickedly.

Ilsa giggled. “Oh, stop,” she said. “Yes, the sex was good. I was really fond of him. But it was his idea to go our separate ways when we went to uni.” She tried not to think about how devastated she had been, how she had cried after he’d gone. How she had missed him like a physical ache for months.

“‘Really fond?’” Claire said. “Come off it, Ilsa. He’s the one you always talk about when you’re drunk. He’s the yardstick you’ve measured every other man against since. And you’ve got engaged to a guy who’s practically his clone.”

“They’re not _that_ alike,” Ilsa protested.

“Near enough, and don’t deflect. We’re lawyers, remember? We spot that kind of thing.”

“He’s seeing someone, and I’m engaged,” Ilsa said firmly. “That ship has sailed.”

Claire opened her mouth to argue, but was distracted by a bleep from her phone. She picked it up and flipped it open, and squealed with delight.

“Cormoran wants to know if I’m free tomorrow night,” she said.

“And are you?” Ilsa asked, relieved to no longer be the focus of the conversation.

“I am now!” Claire said, grinning. “Come with me, Ilsa? Be my wingman.”

“You don’t need a wingman, he’s lovely,” Ilsa said. “But I’d love to spend more time with him, so yeah. I’ll bring Pete, I’d like them to meet.”

“It’s a date,” Claire cried, and said no more about Nick. But the memories of him were in Ilsa’s mind now, and she found she couldn’t easily remove them.

 


	3. Regent’s Park

“Bloody hell, the Army keeps you fit,” Nick grumbled, out of breath, as they slowed to a walk. “I could always outrun you at school.”

Strike grunted, equally winded. He was quietly pleased to finally be able to keep up with Nick, who he had always considered a “proper” runner. Nick had run the London Marathon the previous year in little over three hours, and was planning to enter again. It had been harder work than he cared to let on, matching Nick’s pace, but he had managed it for once. Boxing had always been more his thing.

The two friends had completed a lap of Regent’s Park, and strolled for a while, pondering running another. They paused at a coffee stand to buy bottles of water.

“So, Oggy, you texted Claire yet?” Nick asked as they carried on walking in the morning sun.

Strike grinned. “Yeah,” he said. “We’re meeting in the Star tomorrow night for a drink. Want to tag along?”

Nick looked at him sideways. “You don’t need me, I think you can manage,” he said wryly.

“Yeah, but there’s got to be a decent interlude of chat and getting to know her,” Strike said, still grinning wickedly. “I am a gentleman, after all.”

Nick snorted into his water.

“Seriously, though,” Strike said. “Come along and make an evening of it. I don’t want to look like I’m only after sex.”

“But you are,” Nick said, winking.

“Well, not _only_ ,” Strike said. “She seems like a nice girl, funny, smart. But yeah, it’s been a long campaign. I haven’t laid a finger on a woman in six months.” He grimaced. “So come along and keep me in check for a couple of hours.”

Nick laughed. “All right,” he said. “I’ll see if Sian’s free. I think she’s not, though, she’s been on lates all week.”

Strike took a long draught of water. “How on earth do two junior doctors on the crazy shifts and hours that you guys do manage to date?” he asked.

“Infrequently,” Nick said, ruefully. “We’re lucky if we get together once a week. I’m fortunately on day shifts for a month, doing an orthopaedics rotation. But she’s in A&E, regularly works all night at the moment, dealing with druggies and drunks.”

“I don’t know how you do it, big respect,” Strike said, raising his bottle.

“Back at you. At least we don’t get shot at for a living,” Nick said.

They walked in companionable silence for a few minutes.

“You going down to see Joan and Ted?” Nick asked.

“Yeah, hiring a car next week, I’ll go down for a few days and catch up with everyone,” Strike said. “Was going to drag Lucy with me, but she’s due in a few weeks, doesn’t want to go too far from the hospital.”

“Ah, you’re going to be an uncle!” Nick said. “How cool. God, are we that age already that people are starting to have kids?”

“Yeah,” Strike said. “A girl I dated back in school has got two already, Joan says. Lucky escape!”

Nick laughed. “I don’t see you as the doting dad type,” he said. Strike grunted in agreement.

Thoughts of Cornwall had turned Nick’s mind in another direction, but he was determined not to bring it up. Strike, though, had other ideas.

“So, Ilsa,” he said, and Nick flushed, a reaction Strike didn’t miss.

“You haven’t completely missed the boat, you know,” he said. “Claire said they only got engaged a few weeks ago, nothing is planned.”

“Yeah, but she said yes,” Nick said. “She’s in love with him. That’s that. Door closed.”

Strike drained his bottle and looked around for a bin. “I saw the way she was looking at you the other night,” he said. “I’m telling you, mate, that door’s not closed unless you want it to be.” He went to dispose of his empty bottle.

Nick walked on, thinking. It had jolted him more than he cared to admit, seeing her again. He’d thought himself over her. He’d known at the time, painful though it was, that finishing the relationship had been the right thing to do. Five years of hard graft at medical school lay ahead of him, with all that that entailed. He’d needed to focus. He couldn’t ask a girl he’d he’d been dating less than a year to wait five.

But it remained to this day the hardest thing he’d ever done. He’d stumbled through his rehearsed speech, badly, trying not to see the look in her eyes as he tore down everything they’d built, determined to let her go without promises for the future that he might not be able to keep. And then he’d gone home and cried like he hadn’t done since he was a little boy. He’d gone off to university the following week and filled the hole in his heart, in his soul, with work, throwing himself into his course and coming out near the top of all his classes for the first year. Gradually the pain had eased, but he’d never forgotten her. They’d made half-hearted attempts to keep in touch, writing letters, but each one brought more pain than pleasure, so it had tailed off.

He’d heard snippets about her through Strike over the years, had always known that one day he’d bump into her again through their mutual contact. But he hadn’t been prepared for how he’d feel when he saw her. She was even more beautiful than he remembered, still quick and animated, her blue-green eyes sparkling, her glasses giving her an air that hovered between keen intelligence and vulnerability. And he was still fiercely attracted to her, his body remembering what his mind had tried to forget. No other woman had come close to affecting him the way she had.

And she was marrying someone else.

 

 


	4. Back to the pub

Ilsa and Claire went straight to the pub from work and ordered meals, chose a booth at the back of the room. Strike was joining them a little later and Pete had promised to follow on once he’d finished his case notes. He was being worked hard, almost to the point of hazing, by the partner he’d been assigned to, but was determined to prove his place in the firm.

The women chatted as they ate their meals, comparing notes on their work experience charges today. Their firm, large as it was, often took in kids at the end of their secondary school career for a day, assigning them to the junior lawyers and giving them a day of legal work to see if they’d like it as a career.

“God, mine were boring,” Ilsa said. “A guy and a girl, barely said anything, didn’t look like they even wanted to be there. They do only send the kids who’ve shown an interest in law, right?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Claire said. “I had one girl who never said a word, and one who asked a million questions and wrote down everything I said. God, she knew her stuff. Asked me things I had to go and look up to answer. Swot.”

Ilsa laughed. “Ah, we were that keen once,” she said. “You’re just old and jaded now.”

“I actually steered her away from law,” Claire mused. “I know we’re not supposed to. But she was far more interested in how to go about understanding criminals than the process of using the law to convict them. I told her forensic psychology might be more her thing. Pretty girl, behind the geekiness. Gorgeous hair.”

“Oh, look, there’s Corm,” Ilsa said. “Oh, God, he’s brought Nick.”

She didn’t know why this possibility hadn’t occurred to her. And Pete was coming too. Panic rose in her. _Don’t be silly_ , she told herself. _Why shouldn’t your ex and your fiancé meet? We’re all adults._

The men joined them, and Ilsa tried to ignore the fluttering in her heart. Nick looked even more handsome than he had the other night. Her hands trembled and she sat on them firmly.

“I’m going to the bar. Who wants what?” Strike asked. Claire slid out of her seat. “I’ll help,” she said eagerly. They moved to the bar, chatting.

Nick looked at Ilsa. “Hello again,” he said, and she smiled, the smile that made his heart skip a beat. “Hi,” she said softly. “Haven’t seen you in years, and now twice in a week.”

Nick laughed. “Indeed,” he said. “How’s lawyering going?”

As they chatted, Ilsa managed to relax a little. They’d always got on well, able to fill whole evenings with chat and stories, and also to sit in quiet companionship. She tried not to think about how much she and Pete talked about work, sometimes, when she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Strike and Claire returned with the drinks and slid into the booth on the opposite side.

They got on well as a four, and conversation flowed. Claire became steadily more flirtatious with Strike as each Bacardi and Coke went down, and soon the two of them were engrossed in one another, leaving Ilsa and Nick chatting and catching up. It was only after a couple of hours that Ilsa suddenly realised how much time had passed and that Pete hadn’t turned up.

She excused herself to the ladies and checked her phone. He’d texted ages ago to say he had a migraine and to send his apologies but he was going home to bed. She texted back guiltily to say she was sorry she’d missed his message and she hoped he’d feel better soon, promising to ring him in the morning.

On her way back to the table she saw Nick at the bar and he called her over. She went to join him.

“I came to get another round,” Nick said, grinning, “but I’m not sure whether to bother for those two.” He nodded his head back towards the booth, and Ilsa saw that Strike and Claire were literally wrapped in one another now, snogging.

She giggled. “Yeah, I don’t think they’re going to be here much longer,” she said. “Guess we’d better stay at the bar.”

Nick nodded and ordered two drinks. Ilsa was suddenly very aware that they were about to be left alone together. Sure enough, while Nick was still paying for the drinks, Claire appeared at her elbow, her hair a little dishevelled and her lipstick smudged.

“We’re going back to Cormoran’s,” she said, grinning. “Don’t wait up. You good?”

Ilsa laughed. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Be gentle with him!” she called, as Claire was already heading off towards where Strike was holding the door for her.

“Hah!” Claire called back over her shoulder. Nick raised his pint to Strike across the bar, and got a cheeky wave in return as the pair went out the door.

There was a moment that was almost awkward, and then Ilsa asked after Nick’s family, and suddenly they were chatting again. They drifted back to the booth and conversation flowed easily. Nick told her of plans he was hatching to organise another joint birthday party for himself and Strike in the autumn, now that Strike was definitely going to be in the country.

“You should come,” he urged. “Bring your fiancé.”

“I’d like that,” Ilsa said, softly. She was happy that he was so relaxed about her being engaged. _There you go,_ she told herself. _There’s nothing still between you, forget about it._ They exchanged numbers so that Nick could keep her updated and Ilsa could round up the Cornwall crowd.

Before she knew it, it was closing time. She’d only intended to stay for one more drink, but after the initial awkwardness of seeing Nick again after so long had passed, they got on as well as they always had. _I’d forgotten how funny he is,_ she thought, wiping her eyes at yet another silly joke. They just got each other’s sense of humour.

The bell rang for time, and Nick looked up, surprised. “Wow, is it that time already?” he said.They left the pub, stepping out into the cool evening air.

“Which way?” he asked. “I’ll walk you home.”

Ilsa shook her head. “Oh, I’m fine, don’t worry,” she said.

“I can’t leave you to walk alone, Claire would be cross. And rightly so,” he said, grinning. A little reluctant at first, Ilsa nodded, but he was the perfect gentleman, chatting to her as they strolled, thanking her for a nice evening and leaving her on her doorstep with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Ilsa couldn’t work out whether she was relieved or disappointed.

 


	5. Girly gossip

Ilsa slept in on Saturday, her flat quiet and empty. She went to fetch groceries and a newspaper from the local shop, came back and made a pot of coffee, sat to read the paper at the kitchen table. The morning sun streamed in through the window over the sink.

It was almost lunchtime when she heard Claire’s key in the door and her flatmate stumbled in, still in last night’s clothes, yawning.

Ilsa poured her a coffee and passed it across. Claire dropped onto the stool opposite, wincing a little, and Ilsa giggled. “Well?” she said. “How was it?”

Claire laughed, wrapping her hands around the very welcome coffee. Post hook-up discussions had always been a part of their friendship. But lately it was only ever Claire who had gossip to impart.

“Well, he’s been on an Army base with no women for six months,” she began, with a cheeky wink. “So it was pretty explosive the first time. I’ve got bite marks you don’t even want to know about.”

Ilsa laughed.

“But the second, God, the man’s got stamina,” Claire went on, grinning roguishly. “I can hardly walk. And the things he can do with his tongue...”

“Ew, ew, ew, stop it, he’s my friend!” cried Ilsa, putting her hands over her ears.

“You don’t want to hear about the third time, then?” Claire teased, and Ilsa squeaked a little with shock and shook her head. “Don’t tell me any more,” she begged. “You’re ruining my image of the boy next door. We used to play in the sandpit when we were little.”

Claire cackled wickedly. “Well, he’s not little any more!” she said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh, God, stop, please,” Ilsa said, still giggling. “I really don’t want to know.”

“Yeah, you do, or you wouldn’t have asked,” Claire said, winking. “Anyway, enough about Cormoran,” she went on. “How was Nick?”

“Fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Just fine. We chatted, he walked me home, end of.”

Claire said nothing, just raised an eyebrow. She took a gulp of coffee and waited.

“What?” Ilsa said. “I’m engaged, remember?”

“Okay, enough about what happened, which was clearly nothing,” Claire said. “What did you feel?”

“It was nice,” Ilsa said. “The time just vanished. I forgot how funny he is. It was... lovely.”

There was a small pause.

“What’s it like, seeing him again?” Claire asked.

Ilsa looked down at her mug, running her finger around the curve of the handle. Claire had a knack for asking the very questions she was trying not to think about. She sighed.

“It’s...weird,” she said at last. “I knew I’d likely see him again at some point, with us both being good friends of Cormoran’s. I’m surprised it’s taken this long. I guess he was away at uni for years, and then immersed in hospital rotations with awful hours. Cormoran tends to appear at odd times of year, without much notice.”

She paused. Claire waited.

“It’s nice, seeing him,” Ilsa said slowly. “But it also kind of hurts. It reminds me how cut up I was when he dumped me. I’d not seen him since. It’s ages ago, but... It brings it all back, I guess. But it’s also long enough ago that we seem to be able to get along and chat, so that’s weird, but also nice.” She sighed.

“Do you still fancy him?” Claire asked, watching her carefully. As she expected, Ilsa flushed.

“A bit,” she admitted. “But, you know, he is my type. Always was. You said yourself Pete is like him. Which I truly didn’t realise until I saw Nick again.”

Ilsa paused again. Claire said nothing.

“But none of that matters, anyway, because I have Pete now,” Ilsa said firmly.

Claire eyed her shrewdly and decided to change the subject. “Shame Pete couldn’t make it last night,” she said. “Want to try again later? I told Cormoran I was free tonight.”

“Yeah, he’s feeling better today so I’ll see if he wants to meet up,” Ilsa said.

Claire nodded. “Well, I’m going to shower and go to bed,” she said. “I’ve only had about three hours’ sleep. Wake me up when it’s pub time again.”

Ilsa laughed and nodded, and turned back to the newspaper.

 


	6. The Nick/Pete Equivalency

It warmed Ilsa’s heart to see her old friend shake hands with her fiancé. She’d been looking forward to them meeting, and she was keen to get Strike’s opinion - not that it mattered, she told herself. But she wanted them to get along, and they seemed to. A round of drinks bought, the four of them settled themselves at a table in the pub and looked at the menu. Claire, who had professed herself starving when Ilsa woke her from her extended nap, declared her intention to have anything that was served with chips.

It also gave Ilsa a feeling of satisfaction to see Claire and Strike so relaxed in one another’s company. They had clearly found common ground quickly, neither of them seeking more from whatever was occurring between them than the other. Ilsa had known they’d be well suited in more ways than just mutual attraction - she’d been pretty sure they’d fancy one another, but she also knew that both were quite pragmatic about relationships. Claire wouldn’t be seeking to tie him down at all, and Strike’s itinerant life had allowed him to resist any and all attempts by women to domesticate him. Even Charlotte, the long-time, on-off girlfriend, hadn’t managed to persuade him to move in with her at any point.

Conversation between the four flowed easily, and Ilsa was delighted to see her fiancé and her old friend getting along so well. But she couldn’t help but compare this evening, all of a sudden, with last night. She couldn’t recall Pete ever making her laugh, really belly laugh, like Nick had always done, and had done again so easily last night. And she didn’t feel as... alive, on edge.

Pete is familiar, comfortable, she thought, watching her fiancé fondly as he and Claire described to Strike the law firm the three of them worked at. We just know each other well. She quashed the tiny voice reminding her that Pete had never made her feel the way she had last night. _He’s also never hurt me like Nick did,_ she thought, _and never would._

Presently Pete went to the bar to fetch more drinks, and Ilsa turned to Strike. “What do you think?” she asked.

“Nice guy,” Strike smiled at her, and she knew Pete had his approval. She beamed.

“He seems kind of familiar, though,” Strike said, frowning a little in thought, and Claire spluttered into her Bacardi and Coke. Ilsa glared at her.

Strike looked back and forth between them. “What am I missing?” he asked, amused.

“He is familiar,” Claire said, sotto voce. “He’s Nick.”

Strike’s eyes widened and he looked towards where Pete was standing at the bar. “Oh, my God, he is,” he said, grinning. Ilsa was scarlet again. Strike turned back to her and saw her blushes.

“Was that a conscious thing?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

“No!” Ilsa said, crossly. “I didn’t even notice it until I saw Nick again.”

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “You know, we all have a type,” she said, a little defensively. “I knew you’d fancy Claire, for instance, and she you. I just like tall blond guys, that’s all.”

“It’s a bit more than that, though,” Claire said, grinning. “Here, look, he’s trying to carry four drinks.” She jumped up and went to help Pete. A slight air of awkwardness hung over the table. Strike watched Ilsa’s discomfort, amused.

“They’re not all that similar,” Ilsa said. She wondered why she felt so defensive. Strike was still looking at her appraisingly.

“Well, no,” he agreed. “He’s not as funny, or as quick. He’s a kind of Nick lite.”

Ilsa scowled, disquieted by how true that sounded, especially with regard to her feelings toward her fiancé recently. Until a few days ago she’d been completely sure she was in love. She was cross with her old friend all of a sudden, and with her flatmate, for their assumptions, for finding it funny, for being borderline rude about her fiancé. _They don’t know Pete like I do,_ she thought.

Pete and Claire returned to the table, and the conversation moved on, but suddenly Ilsa couldn’t wait to leave. She struggled to join the conversation, her mind detached, thoughts twisting around one another. As soon as the drinks were finished, she pleaded a headache and she and Pete left, going back to her flat as it was nearer than the house Pete shared with fellow lawyers.

She hoped Claire would go back to Strike’s for another night. She didn’t want to see either of them again this evening.

 

 

 


	7. A walk

A few nights later, Ilsa arrived in the pub again feeling inexplicably guilty. Her heart had skipped with delight when Nick had texted to say he was at a loose end and did she fancy a quick drink. Claire was out with Strike again and Pete was out with the lads, so she hadn’t told anyone she was meeting Nick. _I’m not hiding it,_ she told herself. _Just everyone was too busy to tell._

She’d paid more attention than usual to her make-up, though, and put on a pretty blouse. Maybe that was why she felt guilty, because she wanted to look good for him and that was wrong. She was promised to marry Pete.

_No harm in looking good, though,_ she thought. _He dumped me, after all. A girl has her pride._

Any feelings that she might have had that this evening was wrong, however, were forgotten when she saw him. He was wearing a dark shirt tonight and was freshly shaven, handsome as ever with a hint of aftershave. She was captivated, transported back to how she’d felt that first night she’d met him at his and Strike’s joint eighteenth birthday party, when he’d stood out compared to all the other guys in the room, the best looking by far, and somehow miraculously seemed to find her attractive too. They’d been mesmerised by one another, oblivious to the party going on around them as they chatted and flirted and giggled. It had felt like magic.

Some of that same feeling came over her now as they chatted over a drink, and she found herself having to concentrate on not flirting, on being appropriate.

Nick was having his own struggles to keep things light and friendly. His jaw had almost dropped when she’d arrived, curvy and sparkly, a teal blouse making her blue-green eyes more luminous than ever, soft pink lipstick that dragged his eyes to her lips again and again. He had to force himself not to stare, not to imagine kissing her, not to flirt or touch her. He had a sudden sense that she was even more beautiful now than she had been at eighteen. It was her confidence, the way she carried herself. _Maybe not more beautiful,_ he thought. _That might not have been possible. But God, she’s sexier._

Their drinks were finished. “Let’s go for a walk,” Nick said suddenly, and Ilsa nodded. She’d enjoyed strolling with him the night he’d walked her home. They set off along the London streets, and she was reminded that Nick’s dad was a cabbie and he knew London like the back of his hand. They explored, and he showed her bits of the capital she’d never seen, although she’d lived right here for a few years now. Quaint little alleyways, hidden courtyards, tiny parks that you wouldn’t have thought could be there. Darkness fell slowly as they explored and chatted.

Eventually she realised they were circling back round to her flat, and she fell quiet, sad that the evening was over. They strolled along, a slight hint of tension in the air now that hadn’t existed all evening as they walked and reminisced and Ilsa marvelled over London’s hidden treasures.

They reached her door. “This is me,” she said, and stopped.

“Yes,” he said.

There was a small awkward silence.

“I enjoyed this evening,” Ilsa said suddenly. “I’d like to do it again sometime.”

Nick grinned at her then, so handsome it took her breath away. “Okay,” he said. He leaned down, and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. Her heart leaped into her throat and her eyelids fluttered closed. But all she felt was the merest brush of his lips on her cheek.

“Good night,” he said, slightly husky.

“Good night,” she replied, fiercely disappointed that he hadn’t kissed her and full of shame that she’d wanted him to.

 

 


	8. It was just a walk

Claire stumbled from her room, yawning, slightly late the next morning.

“I assume it’s okay with you if I leave Corm to sleep while we go to work?” she asked. “He can let himself out later.”

“Sure,” Ilsa said, pouring her a coffee and passing it across.

“Thanks,” Claire took the coffee and sat at the kitchen table opposite her.

“You weren’t here when we got back last night,” she said. “Thought Pete was busy?”

“I have other friends,” Ilsa said lightly, but a slight blush gave her away. Claire looked at her sharply.

“I’m guessing you were out with Nick?” she said. Ilsa hesitated, then nodded.

“We went for a walk and talked,” she said. “I’m not doing anything wrong. He’s an old friend. It was just a walk.”

Claire looked at her appraisingly. “Did you tell Pete you were going?” she asked. Ilsa shook her head mutely. “And you didn’t tell me. Maybe it’s not as innocent as you’re pretending to yourself,” Claire suggested gently.

“It was a last-minute thing. You were both out already,” Ilsa said defensively.

Claire spread her hands. “Hey, don’t bite,” she said. “You okay? You looked pissed off in the pub the other night and now you’re being prickly.”

“I’m fine,” Ilsa said briskly, standing up. “Come on, get ready, or we’ll be late.”

Claire frowned a little, but dropped the subject.

...

“Seen Ilsa at all?” Strike asked Nick during their walk to cool off from another circuit of Regent’s Park after Nick’s shift that evening. He knew full well that Nick had, having accidentally overheard a snippet of the girls’ conversation on his way to the bathroom that morning, but he wondered if Nick would admit to it.

Nick hesitated, but nodded. “Saw her last night,” he said. “We had a quick drink, went for a walk. I showed her round some of the secret bits of London.”

Strike looked at him sideways. “Sounds like something you’d do to try and impress a woman,” he said shrewdly.

Nick looked away, admiring the park in the evening light. Clusters of people walked or lazed on the grass, enjoying the last hour or so of sunshine. “It was just a walk,” he said.

_Yeah,_ Strike thought. _That’s what Ilsa said. And I didn’t believe her either._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. Will get the next one up ASAP, is much longer.


	9. It’s just another walk

Ilsa felt much more guilty about this meeting, because she had instigated it. She had waited a week, been on a couple of nice evenings out with Pete and tried to work out whether he just seemed bland compared to Nick, or whether he’d always been bland and she hadn’t noticed. He was starting to talk about getting a flat together now they were engaged, and she made positive but non-committal noises. The thought of moving in together alarmed her a little. _Why are you engaged if you don’t want to live with him?_ She asked herself. But she had wanted to, a few weeks ago. She was just unsure now. More so after her conversation with Claire. She was beginning to reevaluate her relationship with Pete.

Nick hadn’t texted, and in the end she had texted him and suggested another drink and a walk. He’d answered straightaway in the affirmative, and before Ilsa could really think about it, she was getting ready.

Claire watched as she padded back and forth between kitchen and bedroom and bathroom. “You’re going out with Nick, aren’t you?” she asked, and Ilsa blushed.

“How did you know?” There was no point denying it.

“You don’t spend nearly this long getting ready when you’re seeing Pete,” Claire said, grinning, but secretly a little worried for her friend. This behaviour wasn’t like Ilsa. She’d always been one of the most together people Claire had ever met.

Finally Ilsa was ready, and set off for the pub where they were to meet. Claire watched her go and sighed a little, and resolved to be in and still awake when she got back, just in case.

Ilsa marched briskly up the road, trying not to think too hard about what she was doing. _I’m just meeting an old friend,_ she told herself. But she still hadn’t told Pete she’d even bumped into Nick again.

Her heart jumped when she saw him approaching the pub from the other direction, and he grinned and waved when he spotted her. They met at the doorway to the pub and hesitated. Ilsa looked up at him and heat swept through her suddenly. Something was different. Was it because tonight had been at her behest? He was looking at her differently. The friendly but reserved air he’d maintained since seeing her engagement ring was gone.

(She’d nearly taken the ring off, tonight, but somehow doing so would have seemed like an admission of something she couldn’t even name or properly think about herself.)

“Do you fancy a drink, or shall we just stroll?” Nick asked.

“Let’s stroll, see if we spot somewhere we like the look of on the way,” Ilsa said. He nodded, and turned to fall into step with her, offering her his arm as though they were in a period drama. Flushing slightly, she put her arm through his.

They strolled and chatted, and for a while the evening was the same as it had been the last time. They slipped into easy chat, exploring a different part of the city. They came across a tiny old-fashioned pub, and stopped in for a drink, which became two. Ilsa began to be very conscious of the fact that, whatever she told herself, to the outside world this would look like a date. She wondered if Nick thought it was a date. She wondered if it _was_ a date.

They left the pub, Bacardi warm in her stomach, and strolled back towards Ilsa’s flat. Nick was quiet now, thoughtful. The evening breeze wafted over them, ruffling Ilsa’s hair. Goosebumps rose on her skin, but she wasn’t cold.

As they strolled along the road that led to Ilsa’s street, they passed one of the quaint little alleys that led to a tiny courtyard, that they had explored before. Nick paused, hesitated, then took her hand unexpectedly and pulled her into the alley. Surprised, Ilsa followed, and suddenly he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

She jumped in shock, but if she was honest with herself, she’d been longing for him to. She kissed him back at once, her arms creeping up around his neck. She pulled him closer, trembling as his mouth moved over hers, and then his lips parted and his tongue came forward to brush over her top lip. Desire jumped within her. She moaned a little, and suddenly he was kissing her fiercely. She found herself pressed up against the wall she hadn’t even realised was behind her as he kissed her and kissed her. She clung to him, shuddering, her tongue sliding against his, and he groaned a little against her mouth. His whole body was pressed to hers now, and the overwhelming familiarity of it stunned her. She could remember everything about being with him, suddenly, about the physical connection they’d shared.

Eventually she had to pull away to breathe, and she clung to his shoulders, panting a little. He rested his forehead on hers.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the minute you and Claire walked into the pub that first evening,” he said shakily.

Dazed, Ilsa just stared up at him. It was almost dark now, his expression hard to read. She searched his face. What was he saying? That he still fancied her, certainly. But was there anything more?

The lights of a passing car twinkled off her engagement ring, and guilt lurched in her stomach powerfully, making her feel sick. Hot shame washed over her.

She pulled back. “I can’t do this,” she whispered. “I— I’m sorry.” And she turned and hurried away.

Nick stood and watched her go, and sighed. He followed her round to the street corner so he could watch her walk along to her flat. He waited until she was safely inside, and then set off for home, resolving to finish his albeit casual relationship with Sian.

Ilsa was determined not to look back, but she couldn’t resist a glance up the street as she opened her front door. He was watching as she let herself in, and then he turned and walked away up the street. Ilsa stepped into the flat and closed the door, sank down onto the doormat and burst into tears.

 


	10. Claire comforts Ilsa

Ilsa had been expecting Claire to be out, and was surprised to find her flatmate scooping her up off the doormat and helping her through to the kitchen.

“Oh, God, is Cormoran here?” Ilsa muttered, wiping a hand across her face but only smearing tears around.

“No, he’s not back from Cornwall till tomorrow,” Claire said. “What happened? Have you had a crappy evening?”

“No, I’ve had a wonderful evening, that’s the trouble!” Ilsa cried, and dissolved into tears again.

Claire passed her the kitchen roll and sat and hugged her for a long minute while she cried. Then as Ilsa began to mop herself up, she moved to the kettle and put it on, made mugs of herbal tea and brought them back to the table. Ilsa was composed now, but pale.

“This is because of Nick?” Claire said. Ilsa nodded. Claire sighed a little. “Start at the beginning,” she said, sitting down opposite her friend.

Ilsa took a shaky breath. “We just went for another walk,” she said. “But we stopped into this little pub and had a drink before we walked back. It was magical. It... kind of felt like a date.”

She paused, flushing, and Claire waited. “And... and then he kissed me,” Ilsa said. “And I kissed him back. And then I felt guilty and ran away.”

There was a pause. Claire sighed again. She leaned forward over the table and took Ilsa’s hand in hers gently.

“What’s going on, buddy?” she asked. “I mean really. Not what’s physically happening. What’s in your head, in your heart?”

Ilsa took another slow, shuddering breath. “I’m afraid I’m falling in love with him again,” she said. She raised her eyes to Claire’s.

Claire looked levelly back at her. “And...?”

“And I’m afraid he doesn’t feel the same way. All I really know is that he still fancies me, and I wasn’t even sure of that until he kissed me just now. He’s been very carefully neutral so far, hasn’t said or done anything more than just be friendly. Till tonight.”

Claire looked thoughtful. “Do you want to take it further?”

Ilsa looked away. She sat back, twisting her damp piece of kitchen roll in her hands. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m scared. He hurt me so badly last time. And Pete,” she said. “I feel so guilty about Pete. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“Okay, how about this,” Claire said. “Do you love Pete like you loved Nick?”

A pause.

“No,” Ilsa said, sadly. “But Pete loves me and wants to marry me, and Nick dumped me. How stupid would I be to give Pete up on the chance that Nick will stick around this time?”

Claire sat back as well and thought for a long minute. “They’re separate issues,” she said at last. “You can’t marry Pete if you don’t love him, really love him.” She held up a hand to forestall Ilsa’s protest. “I believe you do love him in a way,” she said. “A safe way. But he doesn’t set your soul on fire like Nick did. Does.”

Ilsa shook her head.

“So you need to decide if that’s enough for you to spend the rest of your life with him. Especially when you know you can feel more,” Claire said slowly.

Ilsa nodded.

“And if not, then after that, whether or not you want to risk it again with Nick is a separate thing,” Claire concluded.

Ilsa nodded again. She needed to think.

Claire sighed, and gazed fondly at her friend. She was normally so calm, so in control. To see her uncertain, struggling with this, was unnerving. She knew Ilsa was wrestling with a big dilemma, but she didn’t seem to know how to reach a conclusion.

 

 


	11. Strike talks to Nick

“Jesus, Nick, you’re hard work tonight.” Strike nudged his friend. “You’ve hardly said two words. What gives?”

Nick sighed. “Sorry,” he said. “Lot on my mind.”

Strike cast a sideways look at him. “Woman trouble, I’m guessing,” he said, and Nick nodded.

“Sian or Ilsa?”

Nick shook his head. “Sian’s out of the picture, I broke it off with her last week,” he said.

“Ilsa, then.” It was a statement, not a question. Nick gave a rueful smile.

“Right, hold that thought, we need more beer,” said Strike, and headed to the bar.

Presently he returned with two pints and sat back down. “So, what’s going on?” He withdrew a cigarette from his pack and lit it, reaching across to the next table for an ashtray.

“I genuinely don’t know,” Nick said. “We got on really well that night you guys abandoned us here...”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Strike grinned, looking not in the least bit sorry. “I can assure you it was worth it!”

Nick smiled and shook his head, rolling his eyes.

“Sorry, go on,” Strike said, serious again.

“So, yeah, we got on well that night, and we exchanged numbers for... for an innocent reason, talking about organising a big London/Cornwall get together,” Nick said vaguely. “And I texted her one night just on the off chance really, I was at a loose end and I’d enjoyed catching up with her. We just went for a walk, that was all. Well, I told you about that.”

Strike waited, sensing there was more.

“And then she texted me suggesting we do it again, so we did,” Nick said. “And it was...” He gave a deep sigh. “I don’t know, Oggy. Being with her feels like no time has passed at all, like we still belong together. Like it’s meant to be.”

There was a long pause.

“And?” Strike prompted.

Nick sighed again. “I kissed her. And she ran, and I haven’t heard from her since,” he said. “So basically I’ve fucked it up again.”

Strike sat back, thinking. He took a long draught of his pint followed by a drag on his cigarette. “Not necessarily,” he said.

Nick looked at him. “How so?” he asked.

“Well, you don’t know what she’s thinking, do you?” he said. “Look, Nick, it’s none of my business really, but she was pretty cut up when you dumped her six years ago. You can’t blame her for being cautious.”

“I didn’t dump her!” Nick said. “I was letting her go. I didn’t want to tie her down.”

Strike gave a wry smile. “I’m sure she appreciated the distinction,” he said drily.

Nick groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Oh, God, Oggy, what do I do?”

Strike gazed at him levelly. “Is she worth fighting for?” he asked.

“God, yes,” Nick said vehemently. “I can’t lose her again. I just can’t.”

“And have you actually told her any of this?”

Nick looked away. “No.”

“Then you have to talk to her,” Strike said. “Say all of this. Explain. Tell her how you feel. You might still lose her, but she might feel the same.”

Nick nodded, and went back to gazing into his pint.

 

 


	12. Stay

_You can’t keep doing this,_ Ilsa told herself as she shrugged on her jacket and set off to meet Nick again. _You just can’t._

She walked briskly up the road, trying to ignore the skipping of her heart at the thought of seeing him, trying to ignore the small voice in her head telling her this was wrong. _We’re just old friends._

She sighed. Whatever she tried to tell herself, this wasn’t fair on Pete. A few weeks ago she’d agreed to marry him. Now she was... what? Going for walks with her ex. It was hardly some big passionate affair. It was just walking. But Claire was right. In her heart she was being unfaithful, not least in the fact that she hadn’t even told Pete that Nick was around.

She felt a little strained tonight. It wasn’t the same. He was as gorgeous as ever, and she knew he’d kiss her again given half a chance, but she couldn’t work out what she wanted. When she was with him, she was captivated by him again. But when she was alone, the doubts crept in. And when she was with Pete, safe, comfortable Pete, a part of her still felt like it was madness to be even considering rekindling something with her ex.

And yet. And yet. Claire was right. Pete had never once made her feel like Nick did. Pete was lovely, sweet, dependable. But he didn’t captivate her, didn’t make her heart race.

They didn’t go for a walk tonight, in the end. They stayed in the pub. They drank, and talked, and laughed, and drank some more. Tipsy, Ilsa flirted. Nick was entranced by her. The engagement ring was ignored.

He walked her home at the end of the evening, tension rising between them as they approached her flat. Ilsa tried to carry on chatting, but her throat was dry and she couldn’t think of anything to say suddenly. They got to her door, and Nick went to kiss her cheek, but she took his face in her hands and kissed him. They kissed and kissed on the doorstep, and then Ilsa, breathless, fumbled for her keys and pulled him inside.

She didn’t even offer him a cup of tea. She pulled him, still kissing him, giggling and backing into door frames, down the hall and into her room, kicking the door closed behind them. They fell onto the bed still fully clothed, jackets and shoes and all, wrapped in each other, kissing frantically, pulling at one another’s clothing.

Heat rose sharply between them. Ilsa moaned under Nick’s mouth as he kissed her and kissed her, and desire erupted along every nerve in his body. He was fully hard already, aching for her, his body over hers pressing her down into the bed.

And then the moment broke. She stilled beneath him, shrinking away, and suddenly he realised she was crying. He pulled back at once, shifting to lie beside her, hugging her close. “What is it?” he whispered.

“I can’t do this,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry, Nick, I can’t. I can’t cheat on Pete with you, that’s not fair on either of you.”

He held her while she cried, properly cried. For long minutes she couldn’t speak, and Nick waited, his heart twisted with grief that he had brought her to this. He stroked her hair softly and gradually her sobs eased. She didn’t stop crying, though, just now she was weeping quietly. Nick thought that might be worse.

Eventually she drew shuddering breaths, managing to regain a little control. She reached for the pack of tissues on her bedside table and mopped herself up. Nick lay next to her, his hand resting gently on the flat of her stomach.

“I can’t work out what to do,” Ilsa said softly, finally. “Pete’s a good guy and he loves me. I can’t leave him for you if this is only... only messing about. But...”

Nick clung to her fiercely. “I’m not messing about,” he said. “I want you, Ils. I want all of you. I want you back. I should never have let you go.”

“Then why did you?” she wailed through fresh tears. She turned her head to look at him, her eyes searching his face. “How could you just dump me and go off to uni and never look back?”

Nick groaned and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

“I didn’t dump you,” he said. “I didn’t think I had a right to hold onto you. I had to focus.”

He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her, his heart wrenching at the sight of her tear-streaked face. He stroked her cheek with one finger.

“It broke my heart, leaving you,” he said softly. “I missed you every day for months and months. I didn’t date anyone else for over a year, I just worked and studied.”

Ilsa sighed. “Me neither,” she said. “And no one else ever matched up.”

There was a long pause. “Even Pete,” she admitted in a small voice.

She looked up at him. “Give me time, Nick,” she asked softly. “Let me sort this out first, and then we can maybe... see what happens.”

He nodded, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him, hugging him tight.

Eventually Nick pulled away gently. “I should go,” he said, sitting up.

“Stay,” she whispered. He looked down at her, one eyebrow raised. She flushed a little.

“Just to hold me,” she said. “Please?”

He hesitated, then nodded slowly.

Getting into bed was awkward. Ilsa took her pyjamas, blushing, and disappeared to the bathroom to change. Nick stripped down to his T shirt and boxers and climbed into the bed. She came back and crawled in with him, wrapping her arms around him, her head on his shoulder.

Nick hugged her gently, willing his body to behave itself as the scent of her hair filled his nostrils. Exhausted from crying, she fell asleep almost at once, but he lay awake for some time, holding her and hoping.

 

 


	13. Strike and Ilsa

Nick woke early in the morning, as he’d hoped and prayed he would, knowing there was a higher than usual chance of a morning erection with Ilsa in the bed next to him, and not wanting her to wake to that under their current circumstances. He rolled quietly away from her and took himself off to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face and take some deep breaths.

He heard footsteps padding along the hall as he finished emptying his bladder and flushed the toilet. He hoped it was Ilsa and not Claire waiting for the bathroom while he washed his hands.

Nick opened the door. Waiting politely a few steps away was Strike. His eyebrows shot up, and Nick blushed.

“Don’t,” he muttered, as Strike grinned wickedly at him. “It’s really not what it looks like.”

Strike snorted and disappeared into the bathroom and Nick returned to Ilsa’s room. She was awake and half dressed, wearing a work skirt and bra, just pulling on a blouse. He hurriedly dragged his eyes away from the smooth skin of her stomach, the swell of her breasts in the plain white bra that did nothing to take away from her sexiness. She swiftly did up the buttons, not looking at him.

“Oggy saw me,” Nick said, reaching for his trousers. Ilsa shrugged, unconcerned. “He’s discreet,” she said.

There was a slightly strained silence as they dressed. Then Ilsa turned to face him.

“Give me some time,” she said, softly. “I’ll call you.”

“Okay,” he said, and kissed her forehead. “I’m just going to go.”

She nodded, and he pulled on his shoes and went quietly down the hall and let himself out of the flat.

Ilsa went to put the coffee on. Soon Strike emerged from Claire’s room, dressed. Claire followed behind him in her dressing gown, yawning, heading for the shower.

Strike poured himself a coffee and sat opposite Ilsa at the table. He regarded her impassively.

She smiled at him. “I know you saw Nick,” she said.

He nodded. “I haven’t told Claire.”

Ilsa waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll tell her,” she said. “I’ve got nothing to hide. Nothing happened. But... I do have some sorting out to do.”

Strike waited.

“I’m going to finish with Pete,” she said quietly, “and see how things go with Nick.”

Strike grunted. “Good,” he said. “Right call. The man’s crazy about you.” He got up and took his coffee with him to smoke on the doorstep, leaving Ilsa sat at the table, smiling softly.

 


	14. Goodbye Pete

In the end, Ilsa decided it was better to be as honest as possible with Pete. She sat him down that evening and told him everything, leaving out only the kisses and the fact that Nick had stayed over. She told him that she’d bumped into her first love, that there was still something there, that she didn’t think she should marry him as long as she could still harbour feelings for someone else.

It was a tough conversation. They both cried. Ilsa gave him back the ring. Pete left and Ilsa texted Claire, who had discreetly gone out grocery shopping and was waiting in the late night cafe up the road.

Claire returned with wine, ice cream, chocolate, crisps and a multipack of tissues, and Ilsa giggled through her tears as her flatmate lined these items up on the table.

“Where do we start?” she asked, wiping her eyes.

“Oh, I think for a broken engagement we open them all at once,” Claire said, sticking two spoons in the ice cream tub and pouring generous glasses of wine.

They sat up until one in the morning, talking about men and eating ice cream and crisps until they both felt slightly sick. Claire tactfully didn’t mention Nick, respecting Ilsa’s unspoken wish to try to maintain a boundary between the relationship she was finishing and the relationship she had almost started. Tonight was about the end of the one, not the start of the other. So they talked about men in general, and Ilsa reminisced about how sweet Pete was.

“He’ll make someone a good husband,” she said warmly. “Just not me.”

“You still have to work with him,” Claire reminded her, and Ilsa nodded.

“It’s a big firm, though,” she said. “Hopefully it won’t be too awkward. I don’t think he’s the kind of guy to hold a grudge. He was pretty understanding, considering.”

She sighed. “He’s such a lovely guy,” she said. “I really hope this turns out to be the right decision in the long run.”

“It will,” Claire said firmly. “Even if it doesn’t work out with Nick, Pete wasn’t your Mr Right.”

“I know.” Ilsa looked sad for a moment. “Guess it’s time to open the chocolate now,” she said, and Claire laughed and obliged. She broke the huge bar into squares and laid it on the table between them, the wrapper opened out to form a makeshift plate.

Ilsa looked at her. “How’s it going with you and Corm?” she asked.

“Good, yeah,” Claire said. “We both know where we stand. He’ll be gone to Portsmouth soon, and I’m not flogging all the way down there to get laid, good though he is.” She winked. “So we’ve got the time we’ve got, and we’ll move on. Suits me.”

Ilsa laughed. “I love that you can be so relaxed about it,” she said.

“Yeah,” Claire said. “When I meet the guy who moves my soul, I’ll take it seriously. But I haven’t found him yet, and I’m in no hurry!”

Ilsa smiled softly into her wine and said nothing.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Away for a few days now. Will try to keep posting.


	15. Nick and Strike

“You really spent the whole night in bed with her and didn’t shag her?” Strike asked. “That must have been...hard.” He sniggered into his pint.

Nick glared at him. “Don’t be coarse,” he said. “It wasn’t about that.”

“Well, what was it, then?” his friend asked.

Nick shrugged. “We were sort of hooking up, nearly,” he said. “But she wants time to talk to Pete first and get that straightened out. But she asked me to stay so we just slept. It was good, actually. Just to be with her, to hold her.”

Strike rolled his eyes. “Oh, my God, you’re in love,” he teased. Nick flushed and didn’t reply.

Strike laughed. “Good,” he said. “Because I kept out of it last time, but Ilsa’s like a sister to me. If you break her heart again, you’ll have me to answer to.” He was only half joking, and they both knew it. Strike well remembered seeing Ilsa that Christmas holidays of their first year at university. He’d been shocked at how thin she’d become, how quiet. He’d never told Nick.

“So what’s next?” Strike went on, lighting a cigarette.

“She said to give her time, said she’d call. That was days ago, and nothing,” Nick said, worried creases appearing round his eyes. “Maybe she’s having trouble breaking off with the fiancé. Maybe...” He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. _Maybe she’s changed her mind._

Strike, who knew from Claire that Ilsa had ended her engagement that very night, said nothing. He wouldn’t blame Ilsa for letting Nick stew a little. She wasn’t cruel. She’d call when she was ready.

...

“I’m going to text him,” Ilsa said.

“Finally!” Claire said. “You’ve made him wait long enough.”

“It hasn’t even been a week,” Ilsa said. “This time last week I was engaged to another man. I’m not leaping straight in. He can wait, show some commitment.”

“Hah, let’s see how long that lasts,” Claire said, giggling. “You’re as horny for him as he is for you.”

Ilsa giggled too. “Probably,” she said. “But I want to get it right this time. There’s plenty of time. I want to take it slow.”

Claire snorted and said no more.

 


	16. The Date

Despite obsessively checking his phone several times an hour, Nick was startled when the text came through. It was oddly factual, a simple invitation to see a film the following evening. He replied at once, offering to get the tickets.

He arrived on time the next evening at her door to walk her to the cinema. She was casually dressed in jeans and a striped top, her make-up carefully done but understated. The engagement ring was gone.

Heart hammering, Nick told her she looked lovely, and she smiled and thanked him. They strolled to the cinema, chatting.

Ilsa appeared to enjoy the film, a historical drama. Nick barely heard a word. He was acutely aware of her sat next to him, and he wasn’t quite sure how to behave. He’d been kind of assuming that they would go to the pub, that there would be a little alcohol to make things easier, that they’d talk. He’d hoped that there would be snogging and, if he was honest, sex. This wasn’t what he had expected at all, and he suspected she knew that.

He took her hand at one point and she let him, allowing her hand to be held, squeezing his fingers affectionately. Five minutes later she withdrew it to eat her popcorn, and didn’t return it.

After the film Nick suggested a drink, but Ilsa said she had a long day at work tomorrow and she’d rather go home. He walked her back to her flat and she kissed him on the cheek - warm and lingering, but on the cheek - and said goodnight and went inside. Nick stood on the doorstep for a few moments, and then turned and went home.

...

Dinner finished, Strike and Claire left the restaurant and strolled down the street. He dropped an arm over her shoulders. “Come back to mine for the night?” he said.

“Mine’s closer,” Claire said. “And I’ve got work files I need to take in tomorrow.”

“Aren’t Ilsa and Nick finally out tonight?” Strike asked. “Shouldn’t we, ah, give them some space?”

Claire giggled. “Oh, trust me, Nick’s not getting laid tonight,” she said.

Strike looked at her sideways. “Is he not?”

Claire shook her head. “He’s going to have to put the work in this time,” she said. “Though between you and me, I’m not sure how long Ilsa will hold out. But don’t tell him I said that.”

Strike laughed. _Good on her,_ he thought.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll reply to all your lovely comments when I get a chance. Thank you <3


	17. Banter

Strike paid for the pints and carried them over to the table Nick had bagged. The pub was busy. He set the pints down and went to find an ashtray.

Settled at last, cigarette lit, he grinned at his friend. “So, how did it go with Ilsa?” he asked, and roared with laughter at Nick’s look of frustration.

“It didn’t,” Nick said crossly. “We went to the cinema and actually watched the film. She let me hold her hand for five minutes, and I got a kiss on the cheek when I dropped her off.”

“Sounds very pleasant,” Strike said, still grinning.

Nick glared at him. “No conversation about where we’re going, and no snog,” he said. “I can’t work out what’s going on at all.”

“Come on, mate, you can’t blame her for being wary,” Strike said. “It didn’t end well last time. Maybe she wants to take it slow.”

“There’s a difference between moving slowly and not moving at all,” Nick said.

Strike just grinned at him and said no more.

...

“You really didn’t even snog him?” Claire asked, incredulous. She was sat on the chair in their living room. Ilsa was lying on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

“Oh, God, I couldn’t,” Ilsa said. “I’d never have stopped once I started.”

Claire laughed. “I knew you’d never be able to hold out long,” she said with a wink.

Ilsa grinned. “I know,” she said. “Since that first kiss it’s all I can think about every time I’m anywhere near him. It was making me horny just holding his hand!”

“Oh, just shag him,” Claire said, still laughing.

Ilsa rolled to face her, earnest suddenly. “But I wanted to take it slow, this time,” she said. “Get it right.”

Claire looked thoughtful. “If he’s the right guy, I don’t think you can get it wrong, can you? Not this time?”

“I need to know he’s serious,” Ilsa said. “I don’t want to fall back into bed with him and then lose him all over again.”

Claire shook her head. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, somehow,” she said. Ilsa said nothing, but she looked pensive.

 

 


	18. The Speech

Nick left it a day, and then texted Ilsa and suggested another drink and a walk. He was almost surprised when she agreed to meet him that evening.

The walk was shorter, quieter than the ones previously. Nick was lost in thought. He knew he had to talk to her, say what was in his heart, but how? Strolling along the street didn’t seem the right place, nor did a noisy pub.

Ilsa was surprised how early it was when they circled back to her flat. She was starting to worry that she’d made too much effort to keep things platonic. Was he just going to drop her off and go home again? Did she want that?

On the doorstep, Nick paused, hesitant. He looked almost afraid. Ilsa waited, wondering what he was going to say.

“Look...” Nick began, and stopped. He ran a hand through his sandy hair and started again. “Can I come in? Just to talk,” he added hastily. “I want to talk to you.”

“Sure,” Ilsa said, her heart fluttering, and let them both in. Mercifully, Claire was out. She made mugs of tea and they sat at the kitchen table.

Nick hesitated, looked down. How to start? How to explain everything that was in his heart and head?

She was watching him calmly, waiting. _Don’t mess this up,_ he thought. _Last time you did this, you had a whole rehearsed speech and you broke her heart. This has got to be different._

He looked at her, so beautiful, so strong and vulnerable, her blue-green eyes watching him from behind her glasses, hopeful and afraid at the same time.

“I love you,” he said quietly. “I’ve always loved you.”

Ilsa stared at him for a long minute. “Is that it?” she asked, finally.

Nick was taken aback. “That’s not enough?”

“No, I mean... I was expecting a speech.” She felt emotional suddenly. Maybe it really was just that simple.

Nick dropped his eyes. “Turns out I’m not very good at those,” he muttered to his mug of tea.

Ilsa made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob, her eyes full of tears. “That’s true,” she said.

There was a small pause, and he raised his eyes hesitantly back to hers. She was smiling softly at him, tears still in her eyes.

“I love you too,” she whispered. He reached across the table for her hand and squeezed it tightly.

“I’m so sorry I messed it all up before, six years ago,” he said. “I’d worked so hard to get into med school, and I knew I was going to have to work my arse off to get through. They don’t get many students from rough Hackney comprehensives, it’s all grammar schools. I had a lot of work to do to even keep up. And we were going to be so far apart for so long, it just didn’t seem right to hold onto you when we were so young.” He looked down at his mug again. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said quietly.

Ilsa squeezed his hand in return. “I see that now,” she said. “You just didn’t explain it very well at the time.”

He grimaced. “I know,” he said. “I had it all worked out, what I needed to say, but I didn’t think I could get through it without crying, and I messed it up and probably didn’t make much sense.”

Ilsa squeezed his hand again, touched by his admission. “No,” she agreed. “And to be honest, I didn’t hear many of the actual words. All I could hear was that you were finishing with me, when I’d thought...”

She trailed off and looked away, examining the pattern on the tiles behind the sink. “I thought I’d met my soulmate,” she said quietly. “And then I just felt so stupid, like clearly you knew what was what, you’d...been with other girls, maybe you knew that what we had wasn’t all that special after all and it was all in my head.”

Nick groaned and grabbed her other hand, clutching both of her hands in his now. “What we had, it was special, Ils,” he said. “No one else has ever come close. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

She gave him a tremulous smile, unshed tears in her eyes again now. “Nor me you,” she said softly. “Just don’t hurt me again.” It was more plea than command.

He got up and went round the table, dropping to kneel on the floor next to her chair and pull her into a hug. “Never,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair. She clung to him for a long minute.

“Anyway,” he went on finally, pulling back a little, a twinkle in his eye now. “I wouldn’t dare. I’ve been told in no uncertain terms I’ve got Oggy to answer to if I do. And he wasn’t joking.”

Ilsa giggled. “Bless him,” she said, wiping her eyes.

She looked at him, those clear blue green eyes searching right into his soul, and then she leaned forward and kissed him softly. They kissed for a long minute, just lip on lip, hovering between chaste and something more.

Trembling, Ilsa pulled back a little, her eyes finding his again. “Would you like to stay over?” she asked, a soft, cheeky smile stealing over her face.

“God, yes. Please,” he said, and she giggled. She nodded and stood, took his hand to pull him to his feet and lead him through to the bedroom. At the doorway she paused. “Hang on,” she said, and hurried back to her handbag. She grabbed her phone, tapped out a quick text and sent it, switched the phone off and dropped it back into her bag. Then she went back to Nick, pushed him into her room and shut the door behind them.

Across town, Claire pulled her phone out of her pocket, flipped it open and whooped. “Right, we’re at yours tonight,” she told Strike. “I’m not allowed to go home. She finally caved!”

Strike laughed.

 

 


	19. The sex goes here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was the working title for the chapter as I drafted, and I can’t think of a better one. Does exactly what it says on the tin. :D

There was a slightly awkward pause. Ilsa looked up at Nick, shy suddenly, and he smiled at her softly. “Come here,” he said quietly, and pulled her into his arms. He hugged her close and she laid her head on his chest and listened to his heart beating. Her arms crept around his back and pulled him closer.

They hugged for a long minute. Nick kissed the top of her head softly, his arms tightening around her. Then slowly, gently, he kissed across the top of her head and down towards her cheek. She raised her head for him, and he kissed down her cheek and across to her ear. She gave a sharp intake of breath as he kissed the soft skin just below it, his lips lingering, warm, caressing. He felt her shudder against him and pulled her closer.

He let go of the hug and moved his hands to the sides of her face. Gently he removed her glasses and put them on the bedside table. He cupped her jaw, tilting her head up gently so he could kiss her mouth. He pressed kisses, chaste at first, to her lips until she moaned a little and opened her mouth to him. Her tongue slid forward to meet his, and he pressed closer, deepening the kiss, his mouth opening over hers.

They kissed and kissed, heat slowly building and coiling around them, and then Ilsa drew back just enough to suck on his lower lip, pulling it into her mouth and biting down gently.

Despite how long he’d waited for this moment, how much he’d wanted it, Nick was unprepared for the way desire erupted within him, blazing fiercely suddenly. He groaned, his hands sliding into her hair to pull her closer, kissing her harder, his hips pushing forward and seeking hers, and she pressed back into him. He could feel her trembling against him, her arms around him clinging to him, her fingers biting into the muscles of his back through his shirt. He kissed her until she broke away, gasping, to breathe, and then he ran sucking kisses along her jawline, fierce and hot, and buried his face in her neck. He licked at the hollow where her neck joined her shoulder and she moaned softly.

Shuddering, he pulled back. His eyes sought hers, seeking reassurance that she was still on board, still wanting to go further. She met his gaze, her eyes dark with desire, and brought her hands round between them and began to undo his shirt buttons with trembling fingers.

Nick captured her mouth with his again and kissed her as she undressed him, pushing his shirt off his shoulders. He pulled his arms free, the shirt dropping to the floor, and his fingers found the hem of her top and pulled it up. She broke free of the kiss to let him remove her top over her head, and then she slid her arms around his naked back, pulling his chest against hers. Her breasts pressed against his skin, only the sheer cotton of her bra between their bodies, and he moaned at the feel of her. He pulled back a little and bent to kiss her shoulder and run kisses down across her chest, his tongue finding the edge of her bra and tracing along it. She arched her back to allow him better access, her hands grabbing at his hair and her head dropping back.

His mouth closed over her nipple through her bra and she cried out softly, sagging against him as her knees buckled. He sucked and nibbled at the hard nub, and her soft cries turned to moans, an ache clenching deep within her. “Nick...” she gasped, and it gave him a fierce thrill of pleasure to hear his name moaned from her lips.

Wobbly, she pulled him towards the bed, her hands going to his waistband to undo his belt and trousers. “Too many clothes,” she murmured, and he helped her, pulling his trousers down and then cursing as he realised he was still wearing his shoes.

Ilsa giggled and stepped back a little, kicking off her own shoes and dragging her jeans off as he removed his shoes, socks and trousers, and then pulled her back to him. His erection, no longer held in check by his trousers, thrust against the cotton of his boxers and she rubbed herself against it, drawing a cry of need from him.

“Fuck, Ils,” he managed, pulling her closer and grinding against her, painfully hard, aching for her. “I’ve never felt like this with anyone else.”

She hummed against his chest where she was running kisses across him, her teeth grazing against his nipple, one hand moving from around his back so she could drag her fingers through his sandy blond chest hair. “Me neither.”

She pulled him down onto the bed now, sliding over so that he could lie next to her, tangling her legs with his. They kissed and kissed again for a while, bodies pressed together, arms and legs tangled, just enjoying the feel of each other’s lips and skin. Then Nick’s hands moved to the clasp of her bra.

“May I?” he murmured huskily, and she nodded, eager. He undid her bra and pulled it gently from her, and drew back a little to gaze at her. She dipped her head, suddenly shy, even though he had seen her before. Nick reached out a hand and traced the outline of each breast with a reverent finger.

“I forgot how beautiful you are,” he said hoarsely, amazed, stroking gentle fingertips across her skin and watching as goosebumps followed in his wake. Ilsa moaned a little and arched her back, her chest pressing forwards towards him, and his fingertips moved to brush across her nipple. She cried out in pleasure, and he did it again, and again, gently stroking until she was gasping and shaking with desire. Her hips bucked against his, rubbing against his aching cock, and he groaned deeply.

He bent his head to take her nipple into his mouth, and she moaned and sank back against the pillows. He arched over her, still caressing her nipple with his tongue, and his hand slid down across the skin of her stomach, fingertips finding the waistband of her knickers and sliding along, the tip of one finger just dipping under the elastic. She had one arm around his neck now, her fingers clutching at his back, and the other crept down to the front of his boxers. She traced the hard outline of his erection with her fingertips, and he groaned again, thrusting against her hand.

“Oh, God, Nick, I don’t think I can do slow any more,” Ilsa suddenly said. “I want you too much. Get your pants off.”

Grunting in agreement, Nick pulled his boxers off while she wriggled out of her knickers. Her hand found his erection again at once, closing around it, and he gave a low cry, thrusting involuntarily into the tightness of her hand as she squeezed. His hand slid down her stomach, caressing down further, fingers exploring, but before he’d gone further than a couple of gentle strokes, she was gasping and pulling at his hips, urging him onto her and over her.

Nick rolled gently on top of her, positioning himself against her, his eyes seeking hers. She gazed up at him, nodding at the question in his eyes, pulling at his hips.

Suddenly Nick was transported back to their first time, in her bedroom at home in Cornwall. Everything had been so simple then, they were young and in love and she’d trusted him utterly. He remembered the look in her eyes as she lay beneath him, trusting him to be gentle, wanting him. He remembered the tight feel of her, the stab of guilt he’d felt as her breath hitched a little in pain, but she’d urged him on when he wanted to pull back. He’d been overwhelmed by her complete faith in him, felt unworthy of it.

He hesitated now, overcome suddenly by the moment, and she waited with him, understanding, reaching up to kiss him. He kissed her softly, sweetly on the mouth. “I love you,” he whispered, and then slowly, surely, he thrust into her.

Ilsa’s head dropped back with a deep groan of pleasure as he filled her. Her legs came up to wrap around his waist, and her arms pulled him closer. Nick paused, almost overwhelmed by pleasure at the feel of her all around him, her heat. He held still, shuddering a little, for a moment and then began to move against her, setting a gentle rhythm, afraid of losing control too soon if he went too fast. She was making soft sounds of pleasure, sounds he remembered as though it were yesterday, sighing against him as he moved, and pleasure and emotion almost overwhelmed him suddenly. It felt so right, so perfect, to be making love to her, to have her all around him and open to him, heart and body. Shuddering, he thrust deeper, and the guttural groan he drew from her made his own pleasure pulse. Their rhythm became faster, and she was gasping against him now, her hands clenching and unclenching on his back, pulling at him. He buried his face in her neck now, thrusting his hips hard to hers, pushing deeper still, and suddenly she cried out, curling up into him and contracting around him as she came, crying his name and clutching him to her. With a wordless cry he joined her, hips stuttering against hers as he jerked within her, drawing out her orgasm with the pulses of his own. Gasping, he collapsed against her and she held onto him, shaking and shuddering.

Nick clung to her, his head still buried in her shoulder, quivering with the aftershocks. A wave of emotion swept over him as she shook beneath him, overwhelming him with the significance of the moment. His arms tightened around her shoulders and a sob escaped him before he could stop it, and then another. Ilsa wrapped her arms tighter around him, her hands finding his head, clutching him to her fiercely, and he realised she was crying too. He raised his head to hers and kissed her, tongues and tears combining, bodies still twined together, and then he drew back and rested his forehead on hers, drawing shaky breaths, slowly coming back down to earth.

“I love you,” Ilsa whispered. Nick had no idea how much time had passed. He smiled softly, kissed her gently. “I love you too.” He drew back from her slowly, and dropped down onto the bed next to her, pulling her close, arms and legs wrapped around her. “I’m never letting you go again. Never.”

Ilsa smiled softly against his chest and breathed him, and held him while he fell asleep in her arms.

 


	20. Fluff

Ilsa had totally lost track of time. When she awoke, it was fully light and she was hungry. Nick lay stretched out next to her, deeply asleep, sated and relaxed. She smiled softly at the sight of him, then rolled away quietly, pulled on her dressing gown and went to put the kettle on.

To her surprise, Claire was in the kitchen, a pot of tea already on the table.

“I thought you stayed at Cormoran’s last night?” Ilsa asked, yawning, moving to the cupboard for a mug.

Claire grinned. “I did,” she said. Ilsa put her mug on the table and Claire poured her tea.

“You’re back early,” Ilsa said, sitting down and wrapping her hands round the mug. “Have we got any bread? Need toast, I’m starving.”

“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, so no, I’m not,” Claire said, and laughed aloud at Ilsa’s shocked expression. “Good night, then?”

Ilsa grinned dreamily. “God, yes,” she said. “I thought I might have been remembering it as better than it was, but I wasn’t.”

Claire grinned wickedly. “Looks like it’s your turn to give all the gory details,” she said, standing up and moving to the toaster. She put the bread in and set it going, then turned back to face the table. “Go on, then,” she said.

Ilsa went pink. “I’m not quite as outspoken as you,” she said primly.

“Okay, I’ll ask questions. How many times?”

Ilsa went redder. “Twice. Last night, and then he woke me at some point, it was still dark but it felt like I’d been asleep ages. He’s still asleep now.”

Claire saw her blushes and took pity on her. “Okay, I won’t ask any more,” she said. “What about the other stuff, the stuff you were worried about?”

Ilsa beamed. “All good,” she said. “He loves me. I love him. We’re good.”

Claire smiled. “Good,” she said. “I can stop grilling you. And worrying about you.” The toaster popped and she passed Ilsa a plate of toast and the butter, and watched fondly as her friend devoured two slices in quick succession.

“Right,” Ilsa said, refilling her tea and pouring one for Nick. “I’m going back to bed.”

Claire winked. “Keep the noise down,” she said. “There’s a film on this afternoon I want to watch.” Ilsa pulled a face at her and disappeared into her room and shut the door.

Nick hadn’t moved. She giggled fondly at him, put the mugs of tea on the bedside table, shed her dressing gown and slid back into bed next to him, naked. She pressed herself against his warmth and wrapped her arms around him and began to kiss his cheek and his jaw.

Nick woke slowly, grinning at her touches, and slid his arms around her. “Morning,” he said softly, hugging her close.

“Actually, it’s the afternoon,” Ilsa said, and giggled at the look on his face.

“That’ll be why I’m so hungry,” Nick said. “You smell of toast.”

She grinned at him. “Claire made me some,” she said. “But I ate it all, sorry. There’s plenty of bread, though.”

“Let’s go out for breakfast. Well, lunch,” Nick said. “I need proper food, man food.”

Ilsa nodded, still smiling.

“Except I don’t ever want to leave this bed,” he went on, pulling her closer again and wrapping one leg over hers. She wriggled closer still and felt the stirring in his groin as he pressed against her.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought you were hungry?” she said, and he laughed. “Oh, I am,” he said, rolling onto her and pinning her beneath him. She giggled again and wrapped her arms and legs around him.

“Claire is just in the living room, literally through that wall,” she murmured.

Nick grinned. “Maybe we really should go out for food, then,” he said, reluctantly. He lowered his head and kissed her, a kiss that started chaste but lingered and became something more. They kissed and kissed, and then he drew back and gazed down at her, so beautiful with her blonde hair across the pillow and her blue-green eyes gazing lovingly up at him.

“Marry me,” he said suddenly. Ilsa laughed.

“What, just like that?” she said. “After we’ve been back together five minutes?”

He looked at her seriously. “Just like that,” he said. “I’m not joking, Ils. I’m never letting you go again. Marry me.”

She stared up at him, shocked. “Oh, God, you’re serious,” she said softly. “But...”

“It’s simple,” he said. “I love you. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives.”

“But...” Ilsa felt as though she were stuttering now. “But we’ve literally only been back together a matter of hours. Two weeks ago I was engaged to someone else!”

“The time doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’m already as in love with you as it’s possible to be.”

She smiled at him, tears in her eyes.

“Okay, I tell you what,” she said. “Let’s give it a seemly amount of time, but have a short engagement. How does that sound? We could get married next spring or something.”

He grinned and nodded. “And I’ll actually get a ring,” he said, “and propose properly, maybe in the autumn.”

“In that case, yes,” she said, crying now. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

 

 


	21. Strike leaves

“I can’t believe that’s all the notice you get,” Nick said over a pint the following Saturday night. “You really have to be there on Monday?”

“That’s the Army for you,” Strike said. “Works out well, I only had a couple of weeks left on the flat anyway. I was going to have to decide if I was extending the lease or not.”

He paused. “It’s time to move on, anyway,” he said slowly. “I’ve had a couple of calls from a withheld number on my mobile.”

Nick looked at him. “You think it’s Charlotte?” he asked.

Strike grunted. “Feels like it,” he said. “Withholding her number, calling in the night, not leaving a message. That’s the kind of thing she’d do.”

“You can just tell her to fuck off, you know,” Nick said.

Strike looked away. “I know,” he said quietly. “Never seem to, though, do I?”

Nick shook his head. “No, you do not,” he said.

There was a pause.

Strike gave himself a mental shake, looked back at Nick. “So how’s it going?” he asked. “I’ve not seen you all week.”

Nick grinned. “Been busy,” he said, and Strike laughed. “So I gather,” he said. “Claire says you’ve practically moved in.”

Nick nodded. “Must do something about that, it’s not really fair on Claire,” he said. “But my house is pretty crazy, a bunch of junior doctors coming and going at all hours. We might have to get our own place.”

“Wow, that’s moving pretty quick,” Strike said.

“Yup,” Nick said. “Speaking of which, will you still be about next spring?”

“If I do the phase two training as well, which I’m hoping to,” Strike replied. “Why?”

Nick grinned, a little self-conscious suddenly. “Need a best man,” he said.

Strike stared at him.

“Bloody hell, Herbert, that _is_ moving fast,” he said.

Nick nodded. “I’m not letting her go this time,” he said.

“Have you actually told her about all these plans?” Strike said.

Nick glared a little. “Yes,” he said. “I told you, I’m not messing it up again. I asked her to marry me and she said yes.”

Strike looked at him for a long moment, and then his face broke into a broad smile. “Well, in that case, congratulations,” he said warmly, clapping his old friend on the shoulder. “And I’ll be delighted to do the honours.”

Nick nodded. “We’re keeping it quiet just for now,” he said. “I think Ilsa was a bit conscious of going from one engagement to another so fast. I’ll get her a ring in a couple of months and we’ll tell the families then and set a date for the spring.”

Strike nodded. “My lips are sealed,” he said. “That’s great news, though, seriously, mate. I’m chuffed for you. Both of you,” he nodded towards the door, and Nick looked round to see Ilsa and Claire making their way across the room towards them.

Ilsa grinned at him as she approached, so animated, so...sparkly somehow. Nick wondered if his heart would ever not lurch at the sight of her. He suspected not. He stood to greet her, and Strike stood too. Claire gave Strike a kiss on the cheek and went to the bar for drinks.

Ilsa kissed Nick and turned to Strike, and gave a squeak of surprise to find herself enveloped in a bear hug. She hugged him back. “Congratulations,” he murmured in her ear, and she pulled back, flushing, and looked at Nick.

“I thought we were keeping it quiet?” she whispered.

Nick grinned shamelessly. “Got to tell the best man, check when he’s free,” he said. “No one else, I promise.”

Ilsa laughed. “I guess so,” she said, and glanced shyly back to Strike. “Then thank you,” she said softly, and he grinned at her.

“I’ll go help Claire with the drinks,” he said, and went to the bar. Nick and Ilsa sat.

“We need to stay goodbye to Oggy tonight,” Nick said. “He’s got to be in Portsmouth on Monday, probably going down tomorrow, he said.”

Ilsa nodded sadly. “Claire said,” she said. “I think she’ll miss him. Might have to evict you for a few days so I can spend some time with her.”

Nick nodded. “No problem,” he said, lacing his fingers in hers on the table. “We have all the time in the world.”

He glanced at her sideways. “Having said that, though, I might start looking for flats.”

Ilsa blushed a little and nodded. Strike and Claire were making their way back from the bar with the drinks. She lowered her voice.

“I love you,” she whispered, squeezing his hand.

“I love you too,” he replied, grinning at her, dazed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s all folks! Thanks for sticking with it. Am still away but will reply to all the lovely comments when back. Thank you so much! :))


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